


Fly With Me

by nhpw



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Bottom Jensen Ackles, Dom/sub, Dominant Bottom, Fluff, Gentle Dom Jensen Ackles, Idiots in Love, Jealous Jensen Ackles, Kissing, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, So much kissing, Sub Misha Collins, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-31 16:04:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21148442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/pseuds/nhpw
Summary: For once, they have plenty of time, and Jensen intends to not waste a second of it.Absolute, 100% PWP.





	Fly With Me

**Author's Note:**

> I've been promising my favorite group chat a "Gentle Dom Jensen" story for ages. AGES.
> 
> This... isn't the one I've talked about previously. It's just a PWP. Sorry not sorry? It also has Bottom Dom Jensen, because it's time I did my part in removing stereotype that Doms always top and subs always bottom. And kissing. And fluff. And more fluff. Enjoy!

Jensen Ackles takes one look at the prone body before him and knows he’s the luckiest man on Earth. Not that this is a new thought — far from it. He’s been struck dumb and starry-eyed by this man more times than he cares to admit, and yet… he never gets tired of losing himself in those feelings.

“They all want you,” he says, his voice low and strained as he sits down on his partner’s left, the bed creaking with his weight. He leans in to lick the shell of an ear he has memorized right down to its most sensitive spot, then nips at the lobe, earning the cry of pleasure he’d been looking for. “But they can’t have you, can they? Because you’re mine.” Jensen moves his mouth to the exposed column of throat, taking time and care to taste every inch of the sweat-salted skin there. For once, he’s in no hurry, and he can take his time, indulge in his partner’s body, let him whine and scream and shout because for once, no one will hear them. No one will come looking for them. For once, this is their time, and Jensen intends to enjoy every second of it. “Say it, hmmm? Mine.”

“Y—yours.” There’s a stutter and the arching of a strong back as his partner pulls at the padded cuffs holding his wrists to the headboard. “All. Yours.”   


“Sir.”

The tip of a pink tongue darts out, licking at perpetually dry lips. “Sir.”

“There are thousands of them.. And they message you and they text you and they snuggle up to you in picture after picture…” He trails off, pulls back, lets his eyes sweep slowly, blatantly, down the nude form laid out for his pleasure, his pleasure alone. “But they’ll never know you like this, will they, Misha? This is just for me.” He ducks his head, sucks a pert nipple into his mouth, and delights in the moans that meet his ears as he swirls his tongue around the hardened flesh. “Isn’t it?”

“Just for you, Sir.” It’s murmured, and Jensen smiles as he moves up to straddle Misha’s hips and kiss him fully on the mouth. Misha’s tipping into sub space, and for the first time in a very long while, they have time to play with that. Jensen can go flying with him.

“For me,” he repeats, just loud enough to be heard, his mouth never fully leaving Misha’s skin. He maps it with his mouth even though he knows the lay of the land perfectly; he never gets tired of this endless exploration. He marks spots along the way, leaving tiny dents of teeth and bruises and getting utterly lost, even though he knows this body nearly as well as his own. 

When he gets to Misha’s lower abdomen, he pauses and looks up across the plane of tan and muscled skin. He takes in the pebbled nipples, the Adam’s apple that bobs with a swallow, the slightly parted lips… the flushed cheeks, the blindfold. The shoulders and biceps pulled back, restrained by the cuffs, looking strong enough to break free of the bondage if Misha really had a mind to do so. 

He probably could, really. But he wouldn’t. He never did. Misha gave himself over in a show of trust and love so deep, sometimes Jensen didn’t have the words. “I’m so proud of you,” he says now, blinking against tears and shaking his head. He brings a thumb up to caress the stubble on Misha’s left cheek. “So fucking proud.” Unable to deny himself another second, he leans down and captures Misha’s mouth with his own, lips moving and tongues sliding as though his life depended on it.

He can’t say how long they kiss for, only that he’s completely lost in the feeling of Misha’s strong body willingly laid bare beneath him, of his lips and tongue pliant and giving in utter surrender. Jensen has never been so honored in life as he feels in moments like this. He takes what Misha’s giving, kissing long past the point when his vision has gone fuzzy around the edges, and he can’t tell if it’s lack of oxygen or just utter bliss that’s brought him to that point. Then he blinks, and he focuses on Misha, because this is something he needs his entire field of vision to behold.

“There,” he breathes, enrapt. With curious fingers, he caresses Misha’s collarbone and earns himself a whimper. He rolls his hips, grinding his denim-clad crotch into Misha’s exposed one, and the whimper becomes a whine.

He leans back down to suck, hard and bruising, at that space on Misha’s collarbone he’d just been fingering, and the sound that comes out of the submissive is one of unintelligible beauty. There it is,  _ that’s  _ the sound, that’s the one that means this beautiful man has melted completely down to his baser instincts. Jensen and the stimulation he provides are Misha’s only concern. He sees no one else; he wants nothing else. Jensen sits up, still straddling his partner, and smiles.

He has all of the power, here. His mind is clear, his thoughts focused. He’s fully dressed, though his jeans are becoming tighter than he cares for. His partner is completely nude and prone beneath him, bound, at his mercy, body open to Jensen’s will.

But that’s not quite it, is it? He’s pensive as he shifts carefully off of Misha’s body, hushing the whimpers of being left so exposed. “Just getting more comfortable,” he says, and clinks his belt unnecessarily, hoping the sound is enough to soothe Misha’s worries. Because he cares. Because he would step in front of a moving vehicle rather than see this man come to any harm. Because this isn’t at all an exercise in power, or in mercy. 

It’s an exercise in love, and in trust.

His jeans and boxers pool around his ankles, and he steps out of them with a sigh of relief. His graphic tee - a soft blue one from the back of his closet that reads “Not all heroes wear capes” with a picture of a flying taco on it that he knows Misha finds ridiculous - is stripped almost as an afterthought as Jensen climbs back onto the bed and resumes his place astride Misha’s hips. He goes back to kissing that mouth like it’s a well in the desert, unable to leave it, and it crosses his mind that he might just let them both get off this way, grinding and making out like a couple of horny teens.

But no.

They've planned a scene, and he has a responsibility to see it through.  _ Besides _ , he thinks with a grin,  _ that mouth is too talented to be so pliant all night _ .

He backs off with a reluctant peck, only to sit up straighter, then shift onto his knees and move up Misha’s body until his erection is bobbing in Misha’s face, an obscene strut like the peacock it’s nicknamed after. Then he grasps it in his left hand at the base and brushes the head over Misha’s slightly parted lips. “Open up, Sweetheart,” he coaxes, and when Misha complies, he removes his guiding hand and brings it to the back of Misha’s head instead as he feeds the entire length into Misha’s willing mouth. “Relax, now,” he says, continuing gentle but persistent thrusts, “Take me all the way in.”

Misha takes him like a champ. Jensen, for his own part, has never been able to deepthroat, and watching Misha do it is something of a study in humility.  _ Feeling  _ it, having it done to him by this man he loves, is another level entirely. “So fucking good at this,” he praises, and not just because he knows Misha gets off on that. He says it because it’s true. “Such a perfect mouth, Misha, the way you work your tongue, the way you let me in… Baby, I’m gone on you.” 

Misha isn’t in a position to comment, but he moans around Jensen’s length, and that triggers a moan from Jensen in turn. He reaches forward with his free hand and grips Misha’s hair, tugs, earns himself another moan that vibrates through his dick. 

His eyes fall on the blindfold, and he bites his lip in indecision. He likes it, but he likes Misha’s eyes on him when he does this, too. The sensory deprivation helps Misha focus and Jensen knows that, but he also recognizes his submissive is so far gone that there won’t be any coming back from this until the scene has run its course. He pulls out of Misha’s mouth, and Misha whines at the loss.

Jensen chuckles, shifting back a bit. “I’ll give it back, I promise,” he says, leaning down to kiss soft, salty lips in reassurance. “I wanna see your face, Gorgeous. Can I take this off?” He tugs at the blindfold just enough to indicate what he’s talking about.

Misha nods, then swallows hard and says in a raw voice, “Please, Sir.” Jensen needs no further prompting. In the next instant, the flimsy fabric is gone and endless pools of blue are blinking up at him, pupils dilating to adjust to the low light of the bedroom. “Thank you, Sir.”

“You’re so good.” Jensen’s heart swells, and he leans down to latch his mouth to Misha’s again, returning to the searching kisses from earlier. This time, he can taste himself in Misha’s mouth. This time, when he pulls back, there are Misha’s hooded eyes looking both at him and through him. “So good.” He takes his time, petting Misha’s hair, wiping away a stray tear. 

And then he stands, and Misha whines again at the cold and the lack of contact. “Shhh,” Jesnen soothes, smiling, pecking a kiss at Misha’s brow. “I’m right here.” He keeps his fingertips in contact with Misha’s skin, trailing a feather-light touch down his chest and abdomen, down to his hips and then his thighs. He circles, planning his next move, and now that the blindfold is gone he can feel Misha’s eyes on him. 

Out of curiosity more than anything else, Jensen swipes his head over the leaking head of Misha’s dick, and his partner responds with a shout and an arch of his back. Jensen smirks and does it again, more purposefully, because he loves this. He loves playing the puppetmaster, knowing how to draw out Misha’s neediness, his raw desires, even when he’s trying so hard to appear controlled.

He’s not.

That’s Jensen’s job, when they play like this.

He wraps his hand around Misha’s length and gives a series of light, unhurried strokes, even though it’s painfully obvious Misha’s having no trouble keeping it up without encouragement. Misha doesn’t disappoint in his reaction: He makes a steady sound throughout, something between a moan and a shout and a babble. It’s a known sound, a sound that means Jensen can do pretty much whatever he wants to do right now, short of getting up and leaving altogether.

And he’d never do that anyway. Wouldn’t even dream of it.

Instead he goes back to touching with soft fingers grazing over too-sensitive skin. The sound Misha’s making raises and lowers in intensity depending on where Jensen’s fingers travel, but it never fades completely. 

When he reaches Misha’s face again, he leans down for more kisses, because try as he does he just can’t get enough. And then he kneels on the bed and grabs Misha’s head by his hair, thrusting forward into an open, willing mouth. 

Watching Misha take him deep while blindfolded had been one thing, but with the blindfold removed, it’s transcendent. Misha’s eyes are mostly closed, but every now and then, he opens them and peers up at Jensen through his lashes and  _ holy fuck _ , Jensen’s composure is slipping fast. He finds himself smiling down at Misha, hand alternating between stroking his hair and tugging at it, until he can’t hold his composure one more second. He bites his lip and grunts, grip on Misha’s hair tightening, and he knows he’s probably cutting off Misha’s breath but at this point they’ve been doing this for so many years, it operates like a well-oiled machine. It’s maybe 15 seconds before he’s whispering, “Fuck fuck  _ fuuuuck _ ,” and coming down Misha’s throat. 

When he’s spent, he pulls up enough to let Misha lick him clean with his talented tongue, all the while petting the other man’s hair with a flat palm and gently kneading fingers. “So good,” he murmurs. “So good.” 

Misha lets him fall out, and Jensen nods and circles back to the other side of the bed, where he climbs up to the headboard and releases Misha’s wrists from the cuffs. He massages and kisses with the knowing touch of a longtime lover, nosing into the skin every now and then. 

Misha’s still flying; Jensen knows this because the look in his eyes is faraway and glassy, but not yet blissed out, because Misha’s still hard, still needy. Misha hasn’t gotten off.

Jensen smirks as he clenches his ass cheeks around the intrusion he’d placed there himself, hours ago. Misha catches the smirk and hums happily, Jensen’s surprise ruined by years of scening and his self-admitted kink for being penetrated. “Don’t take your eyes off me,” he says, upping the intensity of the smirk and adding a bit of an evil eye twinkle just for show. He steals another kiss before reaching back to remove the plug. “I know you like to watch, so I want you to watch.” Then he straddles Misha at the waist and eases himself up to start taking in Misha’s dick. “And it should go without saying that you don’t come until I say. You know how much I love to ride you.”

Sometimes he likes to take Misha by surprise and slam down, taking his whole dick in one harsh slide. Tonight, though, everything has been slow and gentle, and he’s not about to break that rhythm. He takes him in slowly, half an inch at a time, eyes open and locked with Misha’s all the while. He watches Misha’s lips part on a nearly silent moan, and echoes it with a filthy one of his own. “I know,” he pants. “Don’t hold back. Tell me how good I feel.”

“ _ So good _ .” Misha’s eyes slide closed and he bucks his hips and moans, and Jensen pulls back with a tinge of regret.

“I said eyes on me, Misha.” He forces himself to sit still until those blue orbs are locked back on him.

And then he puts on a show. 

Me rolls his hips and raises himself slowly, only to slide back down again in a controlled, calculated movement. He lets go of his inhibitions and moans obscenely, all while keeping his eyes open and locked with Misha’s.

“Please-- _ please _ !” Misha’s begging now and it sounds so wonderful, Jensen almost gives in to the urge to close his eyes. Instead he rides out the extended syllables, the whimpers that follow the second  _ please _ , and refuses to go any faster or harder than the gentle roll he’s set for himself.

“Wanna fill me up, Mish?”

“Yes.” It’s a whimper. Misha’s hips buck and Jensen holds them down. Misha’s head is thrown back and Jensen lets it go because he has to look away, too, and clench his eyes shut tight and hiss at the ceiling. He’s not going to come again, but it feels awesome enough that his dick sure wants to try.

“Love it when you fill me up,” he growls. “Love watching you come apart for me. Love the way you fist the sheets like you’re doin’, tryin’ so hard not to go off before I tell you to. Fuck, Mish, you feel so good inside me I can’t stand it, so big ‘n hard ‘n perfect.” He knows his accent’s slipping out more because he’s unfocused, but it’s fine — he’s not the only one with an accent kink. He looks down and finds Misha’s eyes again, locks him with tunnel vision. “Come for me, Misha. Do it. Come  _ now _ .”

There’s a moment where everything is tense and still, and then Misha bucks up hard and Jensen feels the warmth of release flooding him. He relishes every second of it, riding Misha straight through the aftershocks, until the man beneath him is a squirming mess of oversensitivity. Then he eases up slowly, sighing regretfully at the emptiness that always follows a good ride. He reaches for the beside tissue box and swipes between his own legs a bit before turning to Misha, who’s now making mushy, happy sounds as he curls into himself in the middle of the king size bed.

Jensen smiles fondly and folds himself around Misha’s back. He kisses a warm shoulder, noses a sweaty neck. They don’t speak; they just feel. They feel each other, they feel within themselves, they reflect.

Well— Jensen reflects. Misha, he expects, is working his way out of sub space with reluctance. It’s how Misha processes immediately afterward: A slow, pensive withdrawal in the safety of Jensen’s embrace. They’ll talk about it when he floats on back. 

Meanwhile, Jensen continues to murmur words of praise into Misha’s skin. He rubs strong forearms reassuringly. “I love you,” he says, and lays soft kisses along Misha’s right bicep. “You’re amazing. Thank you for trusting me.” It’s a familiar litany, years old, but still necessary, for both of them.

“Mmmm,” Misha finally says, and stretches his legs a bit. Rolls his shoulders. At long last, turning his head to look behind him, catching Jensen’s eye and giving a tired, satisfied smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” They kiss slowly, all lips. “Was it good?”

Misha hums and rolls over fully, and they lay facing one another. Misha looks as content as Jensen feels. “You always ask that.”

“Well, it’s always important,” he insists.

“Of course I liked it.” Any further questions are silenced with another kiss, this one deeper, Misha’s tongue exploring the depth of Jensen’s mouth for as long as he can without coming up for air.

“Good. But if you ever don’t—”

“If I ever don’t, I’ll tell you. I promise.” They stare at each other in silence. Time slips away. “How long do we have?” Misha finally asks, but he makes no move to get up.

“As long as we want, remember?”

Misha blinks at him, and a slow smile spreads over his face as he seems to remember where they are, what day it is. “Oh yeah,” he says, and laughs deep in his chest. “We have a night off.”

“In Hawaii,” Jensen adds, nodding against the plush pillow beneath his bed. 

Misha hums. “We could go out. Soak up the night life.”

“We could.” Jensen pauses, mostly for effect. “Or I could be completely selfish, keep you here in my bed all night.”

“There’s some appeal to that,” Misha aquisences. He leans in for another kiss. “But I’m hungry.”

With a sigh that’s purposefully over-dramatic, Jensen shifts to sit up, bracing himself on one elbow. “I could order room service.”

“That’s no fun.”

“I could make it fun.” But he’s already rolling to get out of bed, relishing the delicious ache that comes with a great fuck. 

“Jensen.”

“Hmmm?”

They both know Jensen’s mostly been teasing, but Misha comes around the bed anyway, takes both of his hands, and looks at him earnestly. “None of them hold a candle to you,” he says, and Jensen’s heart swells.

He knows. Really, he does. But he sure does like to be reminded. “Right back atcha,” he says lightly, leaning in to bump his nose against Misha’s. “Later, though,” he adds, nosing back to Misha’s neck and kissing just below his right ear before he finishes. “Later, after dinner? I get you in my bed all night. And we get room service for breakfast.”

“And eat it naked,” Misha agrees with a nod and a contented sigh as Jensen straightens again and they make their way, hand in hand, for the shower. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 


End file.
